Show Me Your Lips (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 3)

Two Hands, One Hand

He hissed and recoiled from her. Lauren felt instantly mortified. He mouthed something, rounding his lips; and pointed at her hands with his eyes.

"What?" Lauren asked helplessly.

He made a 'k' sound, like a clack in his throat; repeated the same mouth movement; and caught her fingers. He gave her hands a tiny gentle shake.

"Oh, cold!" she translated. "Cold hands? Yeah, sorry."

He nodded to her and then rubbed her fingers in his, supposedly warming them up.

"I can stick them in warm—" she started.

The word 'water' was destined to never come out, since he let go of her and lifted his arms, clearly signalling she could proceed with undressing him. Lauren swallowed a knot in her throat, loudly, like a cartoon character.

She pulled; he bent down, helping her. It was a tad awkward; but altogether, Lauren decided that taking a shirt off a man wasn't that hard. Perhaps, that was because she was comparing it to changing her nephews, who resisted, wiggled, and as if temporarily grew a dozen extra limbs. He shuffled backwards a tad - and straightened up, leaving the tee in her grasp.

There were tattoos on his chest too: the Welsh dragon, two swallows, and a clock. Lauren tried not to stare at his chest hair, dark and thick, pooling between his pecs - but failed. He had a heavy build; not at all muscly and sculpted like her brothers; but nonetheless healthy and robust. The skin on his left side - on the ribs, and going down under his denim - was uneven, mangled; both dark red and white patches and lines protruding on it. Lauren assumed those were scars from some grisly burns.

He tapped his finger on the face of the clock, which for some reason was missing hands, inked below his clavicle; and then he gestured what universally was understood as 'a little' with his index finger and his thumb. And then he looked like he was flipping her a bird.

Lauren shook her head. "I don't understand."

He seemed to have read her lips; and he grunted and shook his head as well.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," Lauren said, backing off from him.

She hesitated about what to do with his shirt, and then she simply dropped it on the floor.

"Right." Her shoulder blades met the door, and she batted it with her hand, searching for the handle. "You just leave your clothes here, and I'll— I mean, I'll show you where the washer is."

She pointed at the tee, and he immediately followed with his eyes. Lauren dashed out of the bathroom.

In the kitchen, filling the kettle, she realised that they hadn't discussed what to have for dinner.

***

She'd ordered food and changed into a fresh tee and light bottoms, when the doorbell rang. She glanced at the clock on the wall. There was no way that was their fish and chips. Not even the Fleckney renown chippie shop could conjure all that fatty goodness at such speed.

She walked down into the hall, throwing a nervous look at the bathroom on the landing. She could hear water running. And... humming? Also, some sort of rhythmical... thumping?! What is he doing there?!

Maybe it's best not to try to think about it.

She looked at the camera screen - and gritted her teeth. Seriously? Phones were invented for a reason; exactly so that people didn't show up at each other's doorstep uninvited.

She pressed the speaker button and barked, "What is it, Frank?"

Her brother's worried face moved closer to the digital eye.